A Brief Golden Age
by RolePlayToEscape
Summary: So, my mates in ELA dared me to write this because they thought I wouldn't. Well, f*** you Abigail- here it is. It's probably crap. Fanfiction based on the Caucasian Chalk Circle by Bertolt Brecht.
1. Chapter 1

_All characters credited_ _to_ _Bertolt Brecht and his family or whatever. So, I did this on a dare. My ELA teacher is having us study Brecht, and my friends bet that I_ _wouldn't_ _make a fanfiction of Azdak and Shawa._

 _Well fuck you, Abigail. Here you go:_

The night was very, very cold. The streets of Nuka, which basked in the bright white light of the full moon, sat near silently under a canopy of stars. Torches and lanterns hung menacingly over certain business, ushering and begging for the weak minded to enter their depths. The rich odor of liquor hung in the air like a stale trail leading to the various brothels and whorehouses of the large city of Nuka- no doubt every glass filled with various alcohols. But for once, Azdak was sober.

Azdak walked much easier and found himself much more fleet-footed when he did not dawn his dark-cladded judge's gown. Ever since he had left it on his judge's stand in the early afternoon of the same day, Azdak held a certain jump in his step that he had not had since the day before the Great Revolt. He turned away from the brothels and inns, and even deposited a piaster into the rusted cup of a beggar on the street. Something had changed Azdak.

With the night still young, and the imminent fear of his assassination by the great former-Governess Abashvili somewhat subdued by joy, Azdak caught himself going back to his home for the first time in weeks rather than going to find an inn with an attractive bar maiden. It was the home that he and his apprentice, Shawa, shared.

Before Azdak could even rap his knuckles upon the door of the small first-story home on the end of the cobble street, the wooden door flew open with a loud WOOSH of air, and Shawa stood before him with a rather irritated look that Azdak had not yet seen before on his apprentice's face.

Shawa was younger than Azdak- but not by much. He had unusual blond hair and pale skin, with wide, light brown eyes such as a newborn calf. As for height, Shawa was lacking, and rested a couple of inches underneath Azdak's chin in a manner that forced Azdak to constantly look down on him. Despite these discrepancies, Shawa was much more mature than Azdak was on a typical basis- and was neater too.

"Did you forget your coin pouch again?" Shawa asked, his tone laced with annoyance. "I'm sure the whores have grown tired of your visits by now. Perhaps the fee has raised."

Azdak had the audacity to chuckle under his breath, which admittedly caught Shawa off guard. "Isn't a man invited into his own home? I was unaware that in my absence, my apprentice also became my landlord."

Shawa looked down in shame at his master's note about his behavior. "My apologies, sir. Let me put some tea on the kettle." He said, doing a soft bow before retreating to the kitchen.

Azdak followed him inside, shut the door, and sat at the table. The man pushed law papers aside with disgust. Law and court corruption had taken over his job- must is take control of hi house too? He picked up the papers and tossed them on the floor in a scattered heap. He could almost feel Shawa flinch at the misconduct.

After a few tense moments of quiet, Azdak opened his mouth to speak before being rather rudely interrupted by the tea kettle's cry. Shawa scampered to the pot and pulled it out of the fire, allowing it to cool slightly before pouring it. He collected two clean cups, pouring in the tea, and in one of them he mixed in mint leaves and a few spoons of honey- just the way Azdak liked his tea prepared. Shawa set the cups down on the table and took a seat. Again, the quietness settled like a dead weight.

This time, when Azdak broke the silence, he was not interrupted by rude tea kettles. "How did the old couple take to the divorce decision?" He knew that his apprentice was more likely to answer to work-related queries.

"They were quite upset to tell you the truth." Shawa replied, taking a sip of tea before setting it back down in its' place. "But, I figure that they'll be quite alright. They have been married forty years, after all. I rather like to think that they still love one another- deep down."

Azdak chuckled. Shawa sometimes held the ideals of a child. He fantasized about love and romance, though the master wasn't sure if Shawa had ever attempted to court a woman. Azdak himself was not entirely sure if he believed in love, but he would never dare to tarnish his apprentice's dreams.

"Anyways," Shawa continued, his voice softening as he finally made eye contact with his master, "I think it was better, the way things worked out. Grusha and Simon are proper together." He paused, as if hesitating or deciding upon the correct phrasing to use, "It was . . . very nice. What you did for them."

"Well, I do have a heart, believe it or not."

Shawa gifted Azdak for his playful banter with one of his rare smiles- the kind of smile that was just infectious enough to make Azdak want to make it happen again.

"Yes, I suppose you do." Shawua said, "For a moment, after the second try, I thought you would really give that child over to that vile woman. And the way you talked about him being rich, and taking so many bribes-" He paused, "I was a tad worried."

The smile on Azdak's face faltered, and his grip on the teacup grew tight enough that his knuckles turned ghastly white. That was the thing- the fault in Azdak. He had planned on giving the Governess the child at the point of the second bribe. The amount of piasters in that pouch . . . Azdak and Shawa would never have to worry about money ever again.

Shawa caught wind of this, and reached across the table, touching Azdak's free hand. Azdak flinched, but relaxed as he remembered whom he was with. Shawa always had the aura that calmed Azdak- though his own pride would prevent him from admitting it.

The men locked eyes from across the table as Shawa began to speak. "It as a lot of money, Azdak. But you did the right thing, in the end. And that is what matters. You made Grusha and Simon and Michael so, very happy."

"Yes. Their happiness at the cost of my own life." Azdak muttered.

Shawa frowned, "What was that you said?" He hadn't heard exactly.

Azdak slowly pulled his hand away from Shawa. He didn't want his apprentice to get hurt too. He did have a heart, after all. And part of his heart beat for Shawa. "The Governess. She is bound to send Ironshirts after me. I'll be dead by morning if they find me."

"She wouldn't attack an official of the court!" Shawa demanded.

"She hasn't anything left to lose- just the last of her pride. And killing the man who practically sentenced her to peasant life . . . well, I would do the same in her position."

Shawa suddenly seemed to realize why Azdak had returned home that night, and the pain held in his face betrayed him, "You . . . you're leaving Nuka, aren't you?" The silence held in the room was a fine enough answer for Shawa, "You can't just leave! Where's your courage, Azdak?"

"I haven't got any courage!" Azdak spat, "Why do you think I took bribes, Shawa? Because i'm too cowardly to stand up for what is right."

"Doesn't any of this mean anything to you? Don't I-"

Shawa cut himself off before saying something he might regret, but Azdak had caught it. Azdak stood and walked around the table, going to where shawa was seated. He kneeled, taking both of Shawa's hands in his, and holding them tight.

"You are the only thing I have left in this life, Shawa." Azdak confessed.

"Then why are you leaving me?" Shawa wept, his rare smile long gone with the arrival of his sorrow.

"Because I've lost too much in this life." Azdak answered, "I've lost my courage, my dignity, my pride. But I wouldn't be able to bear my sorrows if I had to suffer in a life where I had lost you."

The men locked eyes once again, and a certain spark fell between them. Azdak's heart beat so quickly in his chest that is began to pain him, and his forehead began to sweat with anxiousness. He was unaware of this new sensation, as he had never felt if before. But Shawa had, and he could label it with efficiency.

Shawa leaned down and pressed his lips to Azdak's. Now, Azdak had indeed kissed another man before- once on a bet, and once in a drunken stupor. But this was different. Shawa's lips did not taste like stale liquor, but instead like tea and mint. Their caresses were soft and calculated, and for once in his nearly-meaningless life, Azdak had hope. Everything in the world felt like it had finally fallen into place where it ought to be. It was when the master and the apprentices pulled apart that Azdak realized the earlier sensation. It was, ironically, the very thing he thought was fictitious: Love.

And after that evening, Azdak vanished, never to be seen again. The people of Grusinia did not forget him, but long remembered his period of judging as a brief golden age- almost an age of justice.

But Azdak did not leave alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_So some weird-ass person private meggaged me into posting another chapter. Well, hey you, here it is. Weird-ass theater people._

Grusha was hidden behind a tree when Simon found her. The Easter sun hung high over heat, sweltering heat pounding upon the green landscape. After their conversation about bushes and soldiers, Grusha had attempted to escape to the river, and currently had her back pressed against a willow tree to avoid being spotted. Apparently, she was very poor at hiding, and Simon grabbed her hand and pulled her from her refuge.

"I said that I didn't bring any friend along." Simon repeated, running his free hand through his array of black hair, his dark green irises shining with challeng, "I keep my promises, remember?"

She smiled, and then let go of his hand, curling around him before going to the stream, kneeling in front of it. "Of course I remember. I've known you since we were mere child servants in the palace, after all."

"You were as scitterish and youthful then as you are anxious and playful now." Simon smirked, his back pressing to the willow tree to watch her wash the linen from a distance. For a moment there was silence.

"Aren't you going to go hop in your bush?" Grusha asked playfully, "I'm beginning to wash the linen."

"I have the strangest feeling that I don't have to hide in a bush to see what I'd like to see."

Grusha turned sharply towards Simon, who's eyes were down upon her like how a predator would eye his prey. She immediately thought up some sarcastic remark, but Grusha knew better than to entice him. Instead, she decided to play his game- by her rules.

"I wouldn't let you see anything, Simon Shashava. I have standards." Grusha replied, turning away to wash the linen.

She could almost feel Simon's eyes on her back, like an ever present force. And she listened very carefully for his shoes to crunch in the grass as he approached her.

"Have you need to return to the palace at this hour?" Simon asked from behind her. He took the liberty of running his fingers through her dark, wavy locks, and Grusha did not deny him this simple pleasure.

"I ought to return to my chores." She said, standing to face him. Her height rested at least a head shorter than Simon- an ideal placement if she were to rest her head upon his chest in an embrace. "Unless the soldier has a compelling reason for me to stay." Her eyes gleamed with challenge.

Simon's lips curled up ever so slightly in a smirk. "Does the young lady have something she desires in particular?" He asked, looking down at her.

"Something can be seen." She mused, mimicking his earlier antics.

This made the soldier falter a moment in surprise. Grusha took the rare opportunity of his loss and pushed herself up on her toe, touching her mouth to his. There was a moment where Simon had to recollect himself, before his hands rested upon her waist and his lips met the kiss.

Both of them kissed one another as if their lips were familiar territory. They had kissed before, when courting as young children. But since Simon has joined the palace guard, rarely had they the opportunity to meet in such a way. Grusha savored it. It was Simon's masculine stupidity that broke the facade, as his hand began to slip down towards her rear.

Grusha pushed him away, "Simon! Not here." She demanded, her face red with fluster.

Simon pushed his hands into his pocketed irritably. "We're in the middle of the woods, Grusha! Where else, the kitchens?"

"We haven't married." Grusha snapped, growing angry at the stupid soldier. "I'm a good, Russian woman, and I won't defile myself with the likes of an unmarried man." Silence settled like a weight on her chest, and both of them hesitated to break it.

Grusha eventually conceded. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a bother on Easter."

"It's alright." Simon said half-heartedly, running the back of his neck with his hand. "I suppose I deserved much more than a push. And I'd wed you, Grusha, if I-"

"-had more money," Grusha finished for him, taking his hands in hers, "I know."

"I do love you." Simon breathed desperately, "Don't be angry, please."

"I could never stay angry at you, Simon." Grusha allowed a small smile to creep onto her lips, which Simon returned.

Grusha then shoved Simon backwards. He fell straight into the river, and bobbed back up soaking wet, his black hair flat over his face. Grusha could hardly suppress her giggle, "See you at the palace." She said, running off, and taking Simon's heart with her.


End file.
